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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27080983">Not That Old</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CassieIngaben/pseuds/CassieIngaben'>CassieIngaben</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Eroica Yori Ai o Komete | From Eroica with Love</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU, Angst, M/M, doesn't end very well</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-09 01:55:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,055</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27080983</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CassieIngaben/pseuds/CassieIngaben</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Volovolonte should have stopped his 'making up for Lupinacci' baiting by now.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dorian Red Gloria/James</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>From Eroica With Love - Groups Challenges</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Not That Old</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/TelWoman/gifts">TelWoman</a>.</li>


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/838409">Five Lives Dorian Didn't Lead</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/TelWoman/pseuds/TelWoman">TelWoman</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I recently came across TelWoman's wonderful multi-chapter AU "Five Lives Dorian Didn't Lead." In the second chapter, Dorian and James are on a cruise on Volovolonte's yacht. I wondered, "what happened before and after?" and I came up with a variety of scenarios, which together form the branching multiverse <i>Splendour in the Grass</i>. To understand how the various stories relate to each other, and read them in sequence, please refer to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30514749">Splendour in the Grass</a>. </p><p>(This story will not make much sense if you do not read its prequels in the multiverse.) </p><p>For the eroicaml mailing list "AU' Challenge 2020.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The club was a dive; yet Volovolonte had insisted on meeting there. Something about keeping a low profile. James hadn't cared. Business was business. The music would be too loud, the 'entertainment' too in-your-face. So what.</p><p>It could have been worse. The music was abysmal but not over-loud. Their booth was well away from the gyrating flesh on the small stage. Not that bad. Apart from the abundance of cheap hustlers. Cheap, male hustlers. Really. Volovolonte should have stopped his 'making up for Lupinacci' baiting by now. James knew that the initial quasi-apologetic gesture had long given way to mockery.</p><p>*          *          *</p><p>Dorian had got too close before realising who the lone punter in the booth was; he froze, but not before the man had turned and spotted him.</p><p>The years had been kind to James—after a fashion. A stark white streak in his still-dark hair made him look more striking than he'd been in his youth, but his eyes were hard and flat, and his cupid's bow had turned into a dour line.</p><p>James's eyes went flatter. "I can't believe we keep bumping into each other. Such a coincidence."</p><p>Dorian felt the blood rush to his face, and his hand went reflexively to the scar over his right temple, but he pulled it back just before the fingers made contact.</p><p>"I—I work here."</p><p>"I can see that."</p><p>A barrel-chested man in a double-breasted suit appeared just in time to break the impasse; he sat down in the booth, and lowered his incongruous sunglasses to reveal crow's feet and derision. Dorian's hair stood on end. Volovolonte.</p><p>"You're that cunt who jumped ship with Lupinacci." Volovolonte waved his hand at Dorian, as if swatting a fly. "We got work to do. Scram."</p><p>*          *          *</p><p>Delicate peaches-and-cream beauty doesn't age that well. Dorian's face had coarsened, his brightness dimmed. He was not that old, yet he looked diminished, his self-assurance faded. He'd lost his nerve. Still, he'd seemed to cast for some of it, in the way he approached James in the club's parking lot.</p><p>"James. Please, wait. Please."</p><p>James turned. "Is there anything you want to say, Mr. Red?"</p><p>Dorian took a deep breath. "I'm sorry."</p><p>James stared at him with narrowed eyes. "You broke my heart. Twice. If you think you can try again, you're wrong. Three times is <em>not</em> lucky in this case."</p><p>"I-- I still owe you money. I—"</p><p>"I somehow doubt you are in a position to repay it."</p><p>"No, but—"</p><p>"Keep the money. Keep your excuses. Just keep away from me." James turned and got into Volovolonte's limousine.</p><p>*          *          *</p><p>There had been no other option but to go back inside and get down to work. Literally. Dorian bit his lips: what were the bouncers thinking, letting in people like the one currently on top of him. The man was sweaty, drunk and hairy all over. Dorian wriggled, struggling to ease the strain on his lower back, knowing it would feel like hell in the morning. The beast was heavy. Yet, he couldn't afford to be choosy these days, so he exhaled and tried to distance himself.</p><p>His thoughts drifted to his failed attempt at hooking up with James again; maybe he should have been more direct and offered him arse, instead of compunction. Might have helped him get out of all of this, back in the saddle, in more ways than one. Might have, might have, might have—  The punter grunted and came, and Dorian got busy trying to extricate himself, not as unceremoniously as he wanted to. He lay on his back and contemplated the ceiling. There had to be a way out of this.</p><p>It seemed like a long time ago, now. How he'd pinned his hopes on Lupinacci, but the gamble hadn't paid, to say the least. It had all been downhill from there. Dorian got up and went to pour himself a large drink.</p><p>Stealing that painting of Lupinacci's had proved a pointless mistake—no matter the siren call of the coincidence, he should have known there was no way he could resell a Giorgione without Lupinacci finding out. More than a mistake, it had been a curse; even after all these years, Dorian hadn't dared to keep less than a low profile, which had been very bad for business. What was he thinking, stealing from the Mafia? But he hadn't been thinking very clearly, the way things had been going in New York. He shivered.</p><p>And James—well. What he'd said earlier, and the way he'd looked at him as he'd said it, were pretty clear. He had dismissed Dorian as desperate and pathetic, which was how Dorian felt. Desperate, and bitter at the way Fate had once again waved a possibility at him, only to snatch it away. How could he delude himself that compunction—or arse—could have worked?</p><p>He poured himself another drink. He'd even run out of his least plausible and most unsavoury options. Digby was a distant memory, long retired and completely out of the game. To his self-disgust, Dorian had even considered—very briefly—contacting Lord Price, only to discover that the swine was dead. There was no-one else. Funny how this job meant that he knew everybody that there was to know when things went well, and yet created a void around him when things went bad.</p><p>*          *          *</p><p>James got into the car. Volovolonte was on the phone. </p><p>"Yes. A miserable dive. Well, he's not that pretty anymore. So sad." Volovolonte shook his head. "Not that good, letting people down. No, don't mention it. Little favours. <em>Cu mancia sulu s’affuca.</em>"</p><p>The Don slipped his mobile back into his coat pocket. He looked at James over the rim of his dark glasses. A well-fed shark. "You got rid of that leech?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"Good." Volovolonte raised the partition, sealing their conversation off from the driver's ears. "I called Lupinacci, in New York."</p><p>"Oh?"</p><p>"Thought he'd like to know where the leech's working these days. You know, some items went missing when the <em>buttanazza masculu </em>left." Volovolonte's lips  rippled. "Wouldn't be surprised if he goes missing himself."</p><p>James looked out of the car window. The tinted glass gave an eerie air to the city outside. A fleeting thought went through his head. Should he warn Dorian? He shook his head at his inanity. Of course not.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This work is part of my branching multiverse <i>Splendour in the Grass</i>. To understand how the various stories relate to each other, and read them in sequence, please refer to <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30514749">Splendour in the Grass</a>.</p><p>________________________</p><p><i>Buttanazza masculu </i> is Sicilian dialect for 'male whore'.</p><p><i>Cu mancia sulu s’affuca </i> is Sicilian dialect for 'who eats alone, chokes'—a vaguely threatening reminder that it's a quid pro quo, not generosity. Now Lupinacci owes Volovolonte.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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